Completely Smashed
by Ladybug21
Summary: Oneshot. Pre DMC: What would have happened if Jack had found our dear former Commodore Norrington on Tortuga and gotten him totally drunk? Not really slashy, but I suppose if you stood on your head you could see it that way if you really wanted to..


OK, I am writing this story at 1:30 AM because I can't sleep, so if it makes very little sense, I beg everyone's pardon. This fic is for my dear friend Sarah, who gave me the idea in an email. I'm not sure if it is meant to be slash… I'm thinking no, but, again in honor of Sarah, I am adding in the ambiguous possibility. In other words, it's up to you as the reader to decide exactly what is going on. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: As always, I own no characters, no settings, no rum, no nothing. Wah.

* * *

Completely Smashed

Jack stumbled onto the dock, swaying back and forth. It always did take him some time to adjust from his wobbly sea legs to his not-much-steadier land ones. He took a deep breath. Ah, Tortuga. Filled with the delicious smells of gunpowder, saucy wenches, and, most importantly, rum. Jack pulled out his compass, regarded it with a surprised stare, and wandered off in the direction of his favorite tavern.

As Jack neared the tavern, he could already hear the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking mugs. He smiled in anticipation, and began taking purposeful strides towards the door… when suddenly he heard a familiar voice behind him.

'Jack Sparrow.'

Jack rolled his eyes and spun on his heel. '_Captain_ Jack Spar-' Jack stopped short, giving a confused look to the pistol that was pointed straight between his eyes. He slowly allowed his gaze to wander to the arm, then the face of the man holding the pistol. Jack smiled.

'Well, if it isn't bloody Commodore Norrington. What the hell are you doing here?'

James Norrington glared at Jack. 'Waiting here for you, of course.' He cocked back the hammer of the pistol. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now,' he spat through his teeth.

Jack raised his eyebrows in alarm. 'Kill me?' he asked innocently. 'Why…?'

'Don't mock me, Sparrow!' James hissed through his teeth. 'That hurricane off of Tripoli, the one I chased you through… I lost everything. _Everything_. Not a single crewmember survived, except me. At this point, I'd rather be dead anyway.'

'Well, shouldn't you be pointing that the other way, then?' said Jack, gesturing to the pistol. James glowered, and pressed the cold metal into Jack's forehead.

'You ruined everything I had, Sparrow… my life, my career, my marriage…' Jack opened his mouth to argue, but James pressed on. 'So by all rights, I should just shoot you here right now.' James smiled sadistically. 'Goodbye, Mr Sparrow.'

'Before you pull that trigger, dear former commodore,' said Jack quickly, 'perhaps we could come to some sort of agreement.'

James frowned. 'Too late for that, I believe, Sparrow. So sorry.'

Jack smiled winningly. 'Never too late for anything, my good ex-commodore. How's this: we go into this tavern, savvy, have a few to drink, and _then_ you can shoot me point blank in the head.' Jack shrugged. 'Just a thought, might as well have a few laughs before I go then, shall we?'

James stared in amazement at the pirate. 'Do tell me you're not serious, Mr Sparrow,' he said in disbelief.

'I mean every word of it. So, do we have an accord?' Jack put out his hand. James gaped at it, not quite sure he was hearing Sparrow correctly. 'Excellent then, shall we move inside, then?'

And before James knew exactly what was happening, he had been steered inside the tavern by the man he had been, and still was, fully intending to kill.

* * *

'Two rums, please,' yelled Jack to the barman over the ruckus of the drunken crowd. The barman, a dirty little fellow, grunted and shoved two dusty mugs of rum across the filthy counter. 'Well, cheers, mate, you could look a bit happier,' said Jack, picking his rum up.

James stared at him. 'What do you mean, a bit happier? I've lost my job, lost my fiancée, lost any and every credible scrap of honor I had to my name, and now I'm sitting here about to share a drink with the man I've sworn to kill. How in the name of heaven am I supposed to be happy?'

Jack leaned forward. 'Because, mate,' he said, 'this is the key to all your troubles. Solves mine every time.' He held out his mug. 'Take what you can, give nothing back, savvy, mate?' He clinked his mug against James's and took a deep swig. With a disgruntled sigh and a disgusted look at his mug, James followed suit.

* * *

Seven mugs of beer later, both James and Jack were hopelessly wasted.

'And then I says to him, "You're forgetting one very important thing, mate… I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" ' James and the rest of the listening crowd roared with laughter. Jack stood on the table, basking in the attention.

'And _then_ did you shoot 'im?' yelled one man from the crowd.

'No!' replied Jack incredulously, as though he had already told the story. 'I had to wait for our dear old Commie here to come rescue his bonnie lass before I could do that!'

'Three cheers for the commodore!' someone cried from the crowd. Amid many huzzahs, James was pushed onto the table next to Jack.

'I propose a toast!' shouted James above the din. 'To my former fiancée, Elizabeth Swann!'

'Elizabeth!' yelled the crowd in response, clinking mugs and drinking.

'And her soon-to-be husband, the foppish William Turner II!' roared Jack.

'The foppish Will Turner!' screamed the crowd, drinking.

'May they both live long, and so prosper their descendants!' added James in a slurred shout. The crowd yelled a few more huzzahs and finished their drinks.

'Nice speech,' shouted Jack into James's ear as they drunkenly clambered off the table.

'I think I got it from a wedding I once went to,' James yelled back at Jack, even though he was only a few inches away.

'But, but, wait…' Jack put a hand on James's shoulder to steady himself, blinking furiously. 'Tha's not right.'

'What d'you mean, 'snot right?' James demanded blearily.

Jack looked at James seriously. 'Not "long live their descendants", mate,' he said. 'Dear William, we must remember, is a fine lad, but a eunuch nonetheless… and therefore, such future Turners are quite out of the question.'

James looked at Jack in confusion for a second, then started to guffaw stupidly. Jack joined in. And soon the two were howling with laughter, pounding each other on the back and practically falling off of their barstools. It wasn't long before the bartender threw them out.

* * *

Still giggling and repeating the word 'eunuch,' Jack and James stumbled down the street, arms about each other's shoulders. As they wove past a pigpen, James stopped and clumsily disentangled himself from Jack's arm.

'Sorry, mate,' he drawled, swaying back and forth and pulling out his pistol. 'But… I did promise I'd shoot you… didn't I?'

Jack blinked, and then grinned. 'So you did, mate, and long live the king! But, Norrie, love… can I ask you for something before you so neatly dispatch me?'

James frowned and scratched his stubbly chin with the back of his pistol. 'Well… all right. But make it quick, Sparrow, I won't be late for roll call tomorrow…' He hiccupped.

Jack grinned stupidly. 'Take off the bloody wig, mate.'

James blinked some more. 'What?'

'I said, take it off. Makes you look so old… smothers any potential for looks you might ever have had.'

James made a pouty face as he fondly fingered the curls of his wig, and then he pulled it off violently and flung it on top of the pigs. 'Damn it all! Send it to Davy Jones's bloody Locker, for all I care!'

Jack burped and stared, astonished, at the demoted commodore. 'Much improved, mate… should have kept it off when asking to be hitched to old Lizzie, eh?'

'Probably, probably…' James swayed a bit more and looked blearily at Jack. 'And now, Mr Sparrow, I really must shoot you. Sorry…'

James aimed seven feet too high and shot. The bullet shattered a glass bottle of rum that a tough-looking man standing on the balcony above was about to take a swig out of; he abruptly punched the man walking by, who in turn slapped the girl he had been snogging only seconds before. And all hell broke loose.

Our two heroes back down on the street, however, could not appreciate the mayhem they had just instituted.

'Oops,' hiccupped James, giggling in a very tipsy manner. 'I missed, didn't I?'

Jack scratched his head. 'I guess so, mate,' he said.

'Hmm. Well then, Sparrow, I guess I won't be shooting you today, then…' James took a step forward and fell over. Jack caught him just before he hit the ground. James could smell the strong stench of rum on the pirate's breath as it blew in pungent gusts across his face.

'Knew you'd warm up to me, mate.'

And then James Norrington passed out.

* * *

The first thing he heard the next morning was the caw of seagulls circling above the cove. James blinked, and covered his eyes, cursing the bright sunlight. He tried to sit up… and groaned. His head felt like it was about to split into pieces. And… what was he doing sleeping in the mud, using a pig for a pillow? James furrowed his brow in concentration, and then remembered…

Sobbing profusely over his fifth mug of rum while telling Sparrow all sorts of shit about how no one had ever loved him… Re-enacting his proposal to Elizabeth for the enthusiastic crowd, with Sparrow acting as his formerly-betrothed, of course… Sitting with each arm shamelessly wrapped around the waist of some harlot (although he hadn't gotten any closer to them that than, he was glad to be able to tell himself)… Dancing a jig on the table top to some ridiculously cheery tune the hornpipes were playing, only to be joined by Sparrow moments later, who linked arms with him and began to prance about in a circle while starting the crowd up in a chorus of some ridiculous song that Gibbs used to always sing about 'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me' or some garbage like that… And hadn't Sparrow made him take his wig off at the end of it all?

James groaned and rolled over in the mud. His uniform, which he had so meticulously kept clean in all his time on Tortuga, was hopelessly soiled, but he really didn't care at the moment. He peered over the edge of the pig he had been sleeping on to look for his wig… and found that it was missing. James groaned and vomited all over the pig, which did nothing but grunt and twitch its ear.

James slumped back against the pig, waiting for his temples to stop throbbing. Sparrow. Yes. He must have stolen the wig! Damn him! But, never mind, James knew he had enough money to buy one when he got back to Port Royal… but wait, where was his wallet? James felt about in his trouser pocket with growing desperation, but could not find it. Damn it again! He knew he had had it when he left the tavern, he had somehow reminded himself to make sure of that, and it was nowhere around him… which once again left Sparrow.

James felt like crying. And, since no one was around, he did. It was all just so unfair.

Feeling quite dizzy, James reached over and tucked his pistol back into his belt. Then he heaved himself to his feet. Moaning at the soreness in his back, he stretched. _Note to self: never sleep in mud with pigs for a pillow, as it is very bad for back._ Steadying himself with a deep breath, James looked up at the clouds in the far-too-bright-and-sunny sky. He would find Sparrow if it was the last thing he did, and make sure he paid for that completely ridiculous evening. And, staggering off towards the docks, James swore never to drink rum again. Ever.


End file.
